Just a Soldier
by Sunbird Riding Shotgun
Summary: Before the team leaves San Lorenzo Florez tells Nate the story of how Eliot first saved his life and everything that happened afterwards.


**Notes: **Written for Help_Japan over on LJ. Spoilers for The Season 3 finale. Many thanks and much praise to LMX_V3point3, my beta.

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><p><strong>Just a Soldier<strong>

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><p>Nate hadn't been looking for Eliot, or anyone else for that matter. Sophie was upstairs, doing whatever Sophie did when she declared she needed "Me" time. She'd been doing it after every job since she got back, so Nate hadn't questioned it. He'd just headed down to the hotel bar to wait the next couple of hours before continuing their friendly drinks.<p>

He hadn't expected to see anyone.

But before he'd even entered the bar he'd found something of note. There were enough security men hanging around that it had to be either the new president or one of the higher ranking staff. Someone who'd learned to be paranoid and who could now slowly learn not to be.

That felt almost as good as a drink.

He walked into the bar and glanced around, checking to see who had wandered into their hotel and if he should be on guard.

He really shouldn't have been half as surprised as he was to find Eliot and General Florez sitting in a booth, drinking, talking. There was laughter between them but there was also tension. Not as much as before. Not the warmth with subtext of something heavy.

But there was still a hint, one of the shadows still clinging to Eliot.

Sometimes Nate wondered if they'd ever see Eliot free of shadows. Though this business with Moreau was giving him the rather unpleasant feeling he and Eliot had at least one thing in common.

They didn't want to be free. For all they kept you awake at night there was something about them that…

Nate knew Eliot well enough by now to know it was those things clinging to the hitter that drove his endless self control and discipline and effort to be the good guy, the honorable guy.

And it had become a part of who he was.

He needed a drink.

But then as if he'd felt Nate's eyes on him (the bastard probably had) Eliot looked up and caught him staring. He looked back to Florez, finished his drink in one long gulp and got up to leave, passing wordlessly by Nate.

Florez turned, watching Nate with appraising eyes. Nate almost wondered if… but no. There was the same warmth as always but no heat.

"Mister Ford," Florez called to him. "Come. Have a drink with me."

Curious, Nate walked close enough they could have a conversation without shouting, though he didn't sit down. "There was a time when my people would celebrate this sort of victory with bonfires and story-telling about our county's heroes." He gave a dry smile and took another drink, something far away in his eyes.

Nate sat down. He knew Florez's type. The General wouldn't have mentioned it without reason. "So tell me a story," he said, motioning for the waitress to bring him his usual. "How did Eliot save your life?"

Florez gave him a long, calculating look that had the weight of something so familiar.

Then he smiled and relaxed back into the booth, the strict posture of his military rank easing out. "I met Spencer fourteen years ago. I was working the security detail of one of my countries dignitaries, who was working to secure a peace treaty with one of our neighbors. We had not anticipated a fight and we had not been aware of the unrest in the neighboring countries. We were ambushed, many good men lost their lives to protect our ambassador." He shook his head at the memory. "But we were overpowered and taken."

The waitress brought Nate's drink and he took a sip, motioning for Florez to continue.

"I do not know what our captors had planed for the eight of us they held, but it quickly became obvious they were not getting what they wanted. They became agitated as days passed. Our treatment grew worse." His voice didn't hint to any emotion at the memory, though Nate did notice his grip on his glass tightened.

Suddenly Florez smiled, something far away in his eyes. "Twenty-three years old. Bright eyes… The stuff of heroes…"

**oOo**

"What was that?" Florez asked the darkness, forcing his arms to push him into a sitting position. Two weeks of little food, bad conditions, and increasing abuse had left most of them weaker than any of the soldiers liked to admit. His cell mate was asleep, not stirring at the question, and Florez felt a moment of irrational fear that the man was dead.

Another muffled clang and a shout.

"Did anyone else hear that?" There were no lights on in their prison. It was the middle of the night. But the bared doors to their cells meant they could at least communicate.

"Fighting," Sergeant Hawkins said from the next cell over. "Conrad! Wake up!" A grunt and the startled sound of the man awakening. "Wake up the ambassador."

Florez turned to his cell mate, the first hints of adrenalin helping ease out the feeling of lead in his limbs, trying to nudge the man awake, feeling the unnatural heat of a fever.

The door to their prison eased open, bright light flooding in, all but blinding them. Florez fought to see, a figure stood haloed by the light.

Then he was moving towards their cell. "Who are you?" Florez asked.

His eyes finally started to adjust to the light in time to meet the eyes of the boy (just a boy, not much older than twenty at most) as he smiled, his blue eyes so very bright as he said. "Well sir, we'd be the Calvary."

**oOo**

"He led us out of there while the rest of his team cleared the way. Fifty feet from the exit one of the enemy reached us. Put a gun to my head. Spencer took him down with a single shot. Said his team never lost a retrieval, he wasn't about to start." There was something bitter in those words. "He led us to the pickup location and twenty-four hours later we were receiving a hero's welcome in San Lorenzo. The Americans who had rescued us had left our company as soon as we were safe. The man who saved us told me they didn't do what they did for the parades." He sighed. "I remember thinking how bright his eyes were when he said it. I did not know their names then but those men? They were heroes.."

The next sip of Nate's drink tasted sour. The idea, the image of a bright eyed, young, Eliot the patriotic hero and soldier overlaying with the soldier of fortune he'd become.

"When did you see him the second time?" Nate asked. "Was it after…" He trailed off, suddenly very aware of how little he knew about Eliot's history.

"Well that…" Florez answered, motioning for the waitress to bring them new drinks. "Is a bit of a longer story."

**oOo**

It had been years since the kidnapping.

He was still trying to get used to the title General. It had felt premature. Like he'd been given the promotion for just being kidnapped. Of course every other promotion had felt premature as well. His wife still teased him for being unable to accept that he'd come home from the wars a hero.

He loved her for teasing him about it despite the nights he woke them both because his dreams had become nightmares about the real heroes who had never come home to the welcome they deserved. She could still light his life, give him some sense of sanity to cling to like he had when he'd first come home. Her soft jokes and the gentleness behind her laughter had eased him back away from the dark place.

She was teasing him that morning, pouring him his coffee, joking about how he needed to spend less time working and more time sleeping or he'd never go back to drinking tea. He'd joked that he was just supporting San Lorenzo's independence when there was a knock from the door.

They were at their townhouse in the capitol city. The country had been so stable since the end of the war, no incidents other than the kidnapping, that they didn't even have a single body guard in the house.

There was no need.

It didn't stop him from silently sending his wife upstairs, with the understanding she'd be ready to flee with their son should it be trouble.

He hadn't been expecting visitors and there was the beginnings of unrest in the capital.

He didn't know what to make of the figure he found waiting, leaning against the railing of the front stairs. He was young, mid-twenties at most, thin, and dressed in dark and dirty clothing. His hair was dark blonde and dirty as the rest of him, beginning to grow out of a crew cut. He held his ribs as if they were hurting, dark circles etched under his eyes, his eyes…

"Who are you?" he asked, the words echoing in his head. Somehow he already knew. Recognizing not the presence but an absence…

The light he remembered had gone out in the eyes that met his, split and chewed and shaking lips forming the words. "Well… I'd be what's left of the Calvary." The boy's voice broke and he pitched forward.

By the time Florez caught the boy he was unconscious.

"Maria!" he called behind him into the house for his wife. "Come, help me."

He heard her feet on the stairs as he tried to carefully pull the boy into the house. Maria's hands entered his vision, helping ease the boy onto the floor of the front room, afraid to move him further until they knew how badly he was hurt.

"Who is he?" Maria asked, moving to undo the button of his shirt to check for injuries.

"I don't know his name," Florez admitted. "But he was one of the team who rescued me three years ago."

"Why is he he-" She gasped, her hand coming away from his shirt red, opening it showed white-turned red bandages across too pale skin. A set of dog-tags hidden by his shirt until now rested against his chest.

"Call Marco, then get me the first aid kit," Florez said, carefully removing the bled-through bandages to check the injuries, carefully easing off the dog-tags and pocketing them. If this 'Eliot Spencer' wanted his identity known he'd have gone to a hospital.

"Father?" Matthias asked from the stairs.

"Go back upstairs," he answered, trying to sound gentle. He didn't need his eight year old son to see this boy, or watch him bleed out.

Maria appeared, bringing him the first aid kit, shuffling Matthias back upstairs. "Marco'll be here in ten minutes."

Some days Florez loved living in a tiny city.

He was still trying to stabilize the boy when Marco arrived. An old field surgeon, he was the best person to call for these sorts of injuries.

It was afternoon before they had Spencer resting comfortably on a cot in the study, with nothing more anyone could do but wait for him to wake up.

"Most of his injuries look about a month old." Marco explained as they washed up and attempted to clean the blood off the floor. "Two gun shots, knife wounds, abrasions, broken rib, shrapnel damage that got infected. Looks like he took care of it himself, if you can call doing just enough first aid on yourself to keep going taking care of anything. It's a wonder he made it this far alive," Marco shook his head but gave Florez a smile. "He's a fighter, like someone else I know."

"I owe you another debt for this," Florez conceded.

Marco waved it off and got to his feet. "I'll collect it someday."

It was another two days before the boy was awake and lucid for longer than a few moments. Another day more passed before Florez decided he was strong enough to answer a few questions.

Eliot Spencer was the assistant detachment commander of his Seal Team, though that was a change from when they'd first met. His team had specialized in personnel retrievals like the mission they'd met on.

He was the only one of his team still alive.

It was a little longer before Eliot would tell how he ended up in San Lorenzo, at his doorstep.

Florez didn't press. He recognized the look, knew the story would have to wait, knew Eliot needed to be drawn back out from that dark place until his wounds healed.

Maria just laughed when he told her Eliot would be staying for a while. She said she'd known that from the moment she helped bring him into the house.

Days passed and routine returned. Eliot slowly regained his strength, trying to repay their hospitality by helping around the house. Maria started teaching him how to cook. Despite initial nervousness Eliot and Matthias eventually got comfortable around each other and not long later Matthias had taken to Eliot like the older brother he'd never have. They played games and Eliot helped Matthias with his lessons. When Eliot was strong enough they started taking walks to the park together.

It was almost a month before Eliot slipped into his office after Matthias went to bed. He stood at attention awkwardly and addressed him as General.

"Ready to make your report then?" Florez asked, somewhere between amused and concerned. It made sense a little, reporting formally would give Eliot some emotional distance. Enough to get through it at least. There was no point trying to tell Eliot it could wait longer. He knew the young man well enough by now to know that if he was here then Eliot had decided it couldn't wait.

"Yes sir," he said. "I was sent with my team to recover a UN emissary. We made entry only to discover there was no emissary." He paused, taking a breath, letting it back out. "There was no emissary. It wasn't bad intel. It was a trap. The year before we'd done a few jobs with questionable goals. We were trained not to question orders but some of us were looking into it. Apparently the higher ups in charge decided…" He swallowed. "Decided that it was better if they tied up our loose ends. I barely made it out of that hell hole alive. I know no one else on my team did. I went to ground. Used my contacts to find out what was going on. I was told all evidence my team existed had been wiped out. I had a couple fake passports, weapons, and some cash at a supply cache my team used but… I needed a place to hole up."

"You chose here?" Florez asked, not able to process the rest. Not yet.

"It was closest. I couldn't go back home and it had been a few years. I figured no one would look for me here," He let out a breath. "and… I thought I could trust you. I read about you in the war. Read what you did, what you've done since. If I didn't find somewhere safe I'd die so I figured… it was worth a shot."

Florez sighed. The man in front of him was still wrung out, exhausted, the hint of light returning had disappeared again behind the haze of memories and loss.

Eliot was healing. But it would be a long time before something like that could be overcome.

"I'm glad you came here," Florez said. "And you are welcome to stay as long as you need. When you are well I am sure I can find you a job. If you cannot return to your home then, perhaps, you can make a new one here. I am sure Matthias and Maria would not mind having you stay nearby." He stood up, walking over to the young man who'd saved his life those years ago, who he was finally getting to know, who he wanted to believe could once again become the hero he had been. "I would like that as well."

Eliot nodded, head falling forward as he let out a breath. Florez put a hand on his shoulder and a moment later felt a shudder rack the young man's frame. Eliot took a sharp breath, gasping in, trying to pull back in his control.

Then it shattered entirely. His head dropped forward, relief and grief and anger mixing together into stifled sobs.

And Florez waited, one hand on the man's shoulder, standing guard as Eliot finally let himself stop running and break down.

**oOo**

A year passed. Eliot grew strong. He moved out of the house into a little place of his own but still close by enough that he practically still lived with them. When he was healed fully Florez got him a job for the security forces, training the San-Lorenzo national guard. He proved to be a stern but good teacher who quickly earned the respect of the men he taught and served with.

There were still rough patches and Eliot was starting to drink more and more but Florez knew things with the former soldier would get worse before they got better. But they would get better. It took time to heal from the loss Eliot had been handed.

But Florez had been there, had been led out of it by Maria and his mentors and the men he served with. He was sure in time Eliot would find his own way.

Maybe it was because Florez had been a child of the revolution, had grown up while his country fought for and gained it's independence, surrounded by national heroes only to eventually become one, but in those days Florez believed the world was good enough that heroes died heroes. They didn't fall or fade away forever. They just were challenged and became stronger or died for their cause.

Maybe in a better world he would have been right.

But the world was changing and San Lorenzo was changing.

It was a little more than a year after Eliot's arrival that the head of immigration security was murdered and his second in command Robera took his position.

Two months later Robera was promoted under suspicious circumstances.

Within a month there was another murder within the cabinet and Robera was promoted into the vacancy.

That was around the time Eliot brought it to his attention. He slipped into Florez's study late one night, outlining the activity, filling in details and gossip and things Eliot had heard. Eliot had become a fixture in official buildings. Three months before he'd been given a promotion to the assistant head of security. When he wasn't needed to fill in for the head of security Eliot did checks on official building's security. Most were more than used to the sight of him wandering about unchecked, tapping at windows, counting people as they passed through a space, or examining ventilation shafts for points of entry.

He'd heard talk, whispers, rumors. Robera was going to make a run for the presidency. Robera was moving up quickly. He was greasing palms with money that no minor officer should have been able to afford.

But Eliot was paranoid. His opinion of bureaucracy was no secret. His world had been destroyed by corruption and Florez knew it was only logical for him to see conspiracies lurking behind typical movement of politics.

Florez knew there was no reason to respond to Eliot's rambling theories about how "Someone" was paving the way for Robera's political success for "some reason" and that they needed to do "something" before it was "too late" with anything more than quiet reminders to Eliot that he had every right to be paranoid but that didn't mean people were actually out to get him. This was San Lorenzo. Not the United States.

Eliot got angry, frustrated, said he'd bring Florez more evidence.

For two weeks newspaper clippings, notes, and a few files that were probably classified found their way onto his desk.

The night Robera announced his candidacy for president Eliot showed up in his study again.

"Eliot this has to stop," Florez said before Eliot could start in again. "You're abusing your position to get this information, stirring up discontent. And what happens if Robera wins? You have a good life. You can have a good life here. But you need to stop seeing ghosts and monsters where there are none. Eliot… I know what happened. But it will not happen here."

Eliot gritted his teeth and took a small notebook out of his bag, quickly jotting down something on it. "Here is a list of ten names," he said simply. "If they're still alive by the time Robera takes office I'll agree that I'm paranoid."

"El-"

Eliot put the note on his desk, looking up, blue eyes desperate. "Please. Believe me now. Put security details on these people. Don't wait until they're dead. It'll be too late."

For the rest of his life Florez would regret that his next words had been; "Eliot, you need help."

The young man turned, slipping out of the study, slipping out of the house.

He didn't come back.

Florez predicted that it would only take a week or two for Eliot's temper to cool and for his loneliness and missing Matthias and Maria to overcome his anger at Florez. "He'll come home when he gets hungry," Maria kept saying. They could mend bridges then.

Only three weeks passed and the newspaper waiting for him on his desk at work had an article about the death of one of the people on the list.

He checked, and discovered two others on the list were already dead. Accidental deaths.

A future candidate, a reporter, a major backer who preferred to play a more behind the scenes role.

He tried to find Eliot but the man had resigned his job hours before and was gone. His house was empty.

Eliot had gone to ground and Florez knew Eliot well enough to know he would only be found when he wanted to be.

The next three months saw the deaths of the rest of the people on the list. The conspiracy once only visible to a paranoid ex-soldier became obvious and then became the elephant in the corner, the thing no one talked about because more people were disappearing every day.

Florez sent Matthias to a boarding school in England and tried to convince Maria to go stay with her family in London. He was preparing to go to war, to try to turn a tide he already knew he was too late to stop…

The night before the official election Eliot appeared again in his study. The five months since their argument had changed him. The last hints of a young man were gone. The last traces of the hero who had rescued Florez were gone from his eyes. He looked tired and angry and just…

There was defeat there in his dark eyes.

"Tomorrow Robera will become President Robera," he stated. "Though we might as well say this country's president is Damian Moreau."

Florez had learned that name in the past few months. Moreau was an arms dealer, drug runner, international man of many skills who was becoming a bigger and bigger force for everything that was evil in the world.

And he'd chosen San Lorenzo as the country to make his own personal safe-house.

And it was far too late to stop.

"Eliot. I am sorry," Florez said. "I should have listened. But we can still-"

"Still what?" Eliot asked, his voice harsh, sharp, broken to pieces like glass and cutting. "Try? Still take back the country? How? Moreau owns the news, the tv, the radio, the guns, the government. When the next election comes he'll have dug in so deep we'll never get him out."

"So you're ready to give up?" Florez asked. He knew that would get Eliot riled.

Eliot just shrugged. "Seems the thing to do."

Florez didn't even know how to begin…

"He offered me work," Eliot said.

"Who offered you work?" Florez asked, unable to believe the answer he knew was coming.

Eliot gave the faintest hint of a smile. "Moreau. Said he liked the work I've been doing. Thought I could be an asset."

"And you'd work for someone like that?" Florez asked. "After these past few-"

"Yeah," Eliot cut him off. "Because these past few years have gone so well. I fought the good fight, tried to, and it got my team killed by the people giving us our orders. I came here, thought I'd found some place where there was still… good. And I just watched everything good about it get burned down. This is all there is in the world. The strong take what they want and the wolves eat what's left and no one…" He stopped talking and turned away.

Florez wasn't sure if it was to hide despair or rage or tears. It could have been any or all three.

"Damien told me if I work for him I won't… I won't have to worry about good or bad or right or wrong or whatever. Just… follow orders. Do a job. Get paid. Stay alive. Keep fighting. Simple. Easy. No more of this…" He gave a halfhearted gesture with his hand. "I protected my country. I tried to protect yours. And I failed both. I give up. The world can burn itself down for all I care. At least with Damien it'll stop taking me with it."

Florez reached for Eliot, reached for something to say. He had told himself Eliot was getting better but had he just missed this despair lingering under the surface? This couldn't have just happened. There had to be some way to… Eliot couldn't go to work for that monster. "Eliot, wait."

There was nothing left of the boy who'd rescued him, of the man he'd rescued, in the person who turned back to glare at him.

"Don't," Eliot said. "Don't say anything. Don't do anything. I tried. I asked you for your help. I begged you for it. You did nothing. No one ever does anything. Thank you for your hospitality but I'm done asking for help."

"Eliot you go to work for that monster and we're done," Florez said, recoiling from the apathy twisting and burning into anger behind those eyes. "You'll never be welcome here again. You'll never be anything to me again."

Eliot looked at him, lips twisting into a bitter, violent, smile. "Alright." He turned away and left.

The front door slammed a moment later and Maria appeared in the doorway.

"Was that Eliot?" she asked, looking back toward the hall. "Did he finally come home?"

Florez shook his head. "No," he said, looking down at the dog tags he'd had in his desk for the past year. "Eliot Spencer died tonight."

**oOo**

"Telling stories General?" Eliot asked, materializing out of the growing crowd of the bar with a drink.

Florez didn't react as if he'd been caught doing anything unusual, casually asking. "Weren't you going to see your team mates?"

"Hardison and Parker are goin' out on the town," Eliot responded. "Parker had her stealing things smile on an' I didn't feel like getting into more trouble tonight."

"Well sit." Florez gestured to the booth. "I was telling Nate about how you saved my life."

There was no hint of tension in Eliot's voice but Nate could have sworn something was off in his voice as he asked, ever so casually. "First or second time?"

The subtext was not hidden at all in Florez's answer. "Second." Eliot actually winced. All jokes aside it seemed to be a more difficult subject than he let it seem. "I was just at the part where you first left San Lorenzo and became an employee of Damien Moreau."

There was a silence, Eliot looking into his drink, an odd moment where echoes of the past overlaid with the present. Eliot's posture was stiffer when Florez was around, almost like a memory of military formality from their first meeting.

But now there was also this look of… not shame or guilt but…

Almost like the look a child gives when they know they've disappointed their parents that can still be seen on their faces when they make new mistakes as adults.

Ghosts of a young soldier overlaid on the team's hitter.

"He didn't…" Eliot started then stopped, shaking his head. "Excuse." He added gruffly before taking a drink and stating. "I was a lot of things, and angry was the only one I was comfortable with. Damien used that. Used the confusion, rage, fear… He's good at that. Picks his way through every chink in your armor until he knows how you tick then uses it to train you like a dog."

Nate didn't say anything. He wanted to ask but he remembered The Park, the look on Eliot's face then. Eliot wouldn't hide what he was from them. If asked he'd tell the truth.

And Nate knew once he had the truth he'd have to do something about it.

There were long moments of silence as they drank, the noise of the bar pressing in around them as people celebrated.

"Ironic thing is if it weren't for a San Lorenzo election I probably would never have pulled back," Eliot stated after long minutes passed. "I was Damien's trained attack dog, but mostly untested where it counted. He needed his best man to take care of things here but he wasn't sure if I'd follow his orders when they were for something a little more dirty than knocking out mooks and getting information from gun runners." Eliot's expression went hard and then eased away entirely, blank look on his face except for the tiniest hint of a smirk. "He got impatient. Sent me on a test job."

He looked up, meeting Nate's eyes, something in his own made Nate want to flinch away, turn away, not remember those words. _"the worst thing I've ever done in my entire life…"_

"I did it. I followed orders," Eliot stated before breaking eye contact. "But I… after it was over I knew I was staring into hell, leaning so far over the edge I was pretty sure pulling back would just make me fall sooner. Fuck. I was pretty sure I was already on a one way ticket into it." Something in his voice made Nate wonder if he still believed he was on his way to hell.

_Some roads you start down you can't turn back._

"Then Moreau sent him to kill me," Florez said. "One last push over the ledge…"

**oOo**

Florez'd had nightmares like this before. Even before his contacts let him know that his activities had caught the wrong sort of attention.

Turning in his sleep, opening his eyes, finding himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

His eyes focused and he looked up, first thinking he was in the presence of a devil or demon before recognizing those blue eyes, the twisted deadly smile.

"Eliot." The word left his mouth and he still wasn't sure if this was simply another nightmare or reality.

The figure before him didn't move, empty eyes, soulless eyes, lit only by the moonlight light drifting in from open curtains…

They stared back. Unmoving.

Florez closed his own eyes. There was nothing left to reason with and he didn't want those eyes to be image he went to his grave with.

The moment stretched on. Silence. Darkness.

He was only glad Maria was visiting with Matthias. Maybe they'd be spared.

"G…Gen…" Eliot stuttered out the words hoarsely, the sounds escaping him like they had to fight their way out from whatever part of the Eliot he'd known lingered.

Florez's eyes snapped open. If any…

The gun in front of his face was shaking.

"General…" The gun lowered. "I can't," Eliot said. "I was sent to but…" Something seeped back into the void. Sharp edges and pain scratched out a bitter sounding mockery of a laugh. "So I guess this is where I stop being an asset."

Slowly, slowly, Florez pushed himself onto his elbows and eased into a sitting position. He didn't move for the gun. Eliot had been sent to kill him but was apparently not able to go through with it. Florez knew if he rushed Eliot instinct would kick in and Eliot would kill him anyway.

"Eliot…" What? What could he possibly say? A part of him wanted to destroy the thing that had spent the past two years wreaking havoc in the name of Damian Moreau and now invaded his bedroom to kill him in his sleep.

At the same time It was a thing his own mistakes had helped to create.

"Evening general." Eliot said, grin twisting to become almost manic in desperation to hold it all together. "Guess it comes full circle, me always coming back to you. Prodigal son and all." The grin disappeared. "No. Not a son. Nothing. I…" He shook his head. "I messed up. And I can't go home again. Again."

His hand raised, still shaking, pressing the gun to his own temple. "And you can't go home again."

"Stand down commander!" The general ordered, forcing his strictest voice. A last chance play.

Eliot hesitated, instincts drilled into him over the course of his life causing his arm to falter for a moment.

Long enough for Florez to lunge forward, grabbing the weapon from Eliot's hand. He sat back, ejecting the cartage and throwing it back over his shoulder, popping the round out of the chamber before throwing the gun in a different direction.

He had no intention of shooting anyone tonight so there was no point in leaving a gun on the field for others to use.

With the gun out of his hand Eliot just sank to his knees. "I can't keep doing this," he stated. "But if I stop I'm dead." He ran a hand through his hair. It was longer than before, loose and wild around his face, untamed. "Can't. Tried to just be alive. This ain't living."

"It's not," Florez said, resisting the instinct to move to comfort Eliot. This wasn't a boy. It wasn't even the same man who collapsed on his doorstep. He didn't know the details but the man before him had walked his road by choice and committed more than enough crimes to deserve whatever damnation fate had in store for him.

Florez wasn't the man he'd been when they first met anymore. The years and changes had had an effect on him just like the rest of San Lorenzo. He watched heroes destroy themselves and his beloved country twist and dance at a monster's will.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever believed in salvation and love conquering all. He certainly didn't anymore.

But there he was, staring down at Eliot, and offering a silent prayer to whatever wretched deity might still be listening.

"You're not living," he said again. "You have to be human to live. You've been nothing more than Moreau's dog for quite some time."

Eliot flinched.

Florez stood, retrieving the gun he kept hidden between the mattress and headboard of the bed, flicking off the safety. "I should put you down now. Spare the world the monster you'll become." He let out a breath. "But you saved my life, once before and now again, and I have saved yours. I brought you back from a dark place and did nothing to stop the world from shoving you back there. I counted you as my son. You will never be that to me again but…" He held out the gun slowly. "If I kill you now I only ensure your damnation."

Eliot looked up slowly. Wide eyes finally meeting his.

"Take the gun. Kill me now and spare me from watching what's left of my eldest son die or kill yourself and spare the world of the monster you've become." Eliot's hand moved, tightening on the weapon but not pulling it from Florez's grasp. "Or fight."

Surprise, shock, uncertainty.

"You were a hero once Eliot. I don't know if you can ever be one again but you can try. Turn around. Start fighting your way back. Live. Fight. Atone for the evil you've done." He tightened his hand around the gun briefly, fingers brushing Eliot's. "And never pick up a gun again."

He let go.

He'd taken his gamble. He'd set the pieces in motion. He could only hope there was enough fight left in Eliot for him to try.

Slowly Eliot turned the gun in his hand. He fumbled for a moment before unloading it, setting the ammunition down next to the gun on the floor.

"I was sent to kill you," he said, his voice toneless, distant. In shock probably. "When Moreau finds out I didn't he'll send someone else to do the job."

"I know," Florez said. "But I haven't survived the last three years out of luck. I know how these games are played. I'm the major opponent of Robera in the next election but the opposition is in chaos. We don't have the organization, the means, to win this election. I have a few strings I can pull and an asset I can negotiate with. Combine that by withdrawing from this election I may be able to pull my name from Moreau's hit list." He didn't like it, it felt like a retreat, but the past few years had taught him to be realistic about politics.

But the election after that he and the opposition in general would be ready to wage political war.

That was a long way off though. He had a more pressing problem to deal with.

"Did you tell anyone you were making the hit tonight?"

Eliot shook his head. "I work alone and he trusts me to get the job done when the time's right."

"Do you have a few more days?" A nod. "Things should be taken care of soon. You'll be told by Moreau that the job is over and return to him." He could see the hint of fear at those words. He silenced the anger at that. Eliot had brought it upon himself. "You will tell him that you wish to leave his service."

"He'll-"

"Do nothing," Florez didn't allow the interruption to continue. "He is supposed to be one of the most powerful criminals in the world and his business depends on that reputation. He cannot allow himself to be upset by an employee leaving, it would make him seem weaker for it."

Eliot nodded, looking down. "After that?"

"Figure it out for yourself." Florez said. "Unless you find a way to pay back some of the blood on your hands this will end our acquaintance"

Eliot stood and nodded whispering only "Yes. Sir." Before disappearing into the darkness.

It was a long time before Florez fell asleep.

It was a long time before he stopped having nightmares of the monster he'd released once more onto the world.

But six months later he received a small envelope in the mail with nothing but an article about a kidnapping in Germany resolved by a retrieval specialist.

It wasn't exactly saint's work, but he slept a little easier that night all the same.

**oOo**

Years passed, slipping away. They lost the next election. And several members of the opposition movement. But they survived. The UN election officials they'd called in at least helped to keep the death toll low.

He didn't get any other news from Eliot but he had other things to focus on. Maria, sending his son off to University, San Lorenzo, the men he'd served with. Marco passed away. The debts (all of them) Florez owed the Doctor still unpaid.

It was early summer, somehow so eerily similar to all those years ago, when Florez opened his door to find a man with long hair, suntanned skin, and eyes that held just the faintest hint of a long forgotten brightness in them.

He almost didn't recognize Eliot at first. This man was…

"Good afternoon General." Eliot said, pulling himself straight to stand at attention, formal in his greeting.

Not quite covering the wince and flinch that passed through him as he did so.

"You're not going to pass out on my doorstep again are you commander?" He asked, keeping warmth out of his tone. Eliot seemed nervous. That was good. Brightness in his eyes wasn't enough to convince Florez that Eliot had earned a homecoming.

"Not likely General," Eliot said. "Two broken robs still healing."

"At ease," Florez stated. There was keeping Eliot on edge and there was risking the boy hurting himself trying to keep military sharpness when he was injured. "Come inside and sit down. I'm guessing you have a story you'd like to tell me."

Florez led Eliot into the house and had him sit in the front room, just a few feet from the rug they'd gotten to cover the bloodstain until the floors could be redone.

"Is that Eliot?" Maria's voice echoed from the hallway. A moment later she was in the doorway.

Eliot stood quickly, covering the pain the action probably caused, and greeted her with the same formality he'd greeted the general.

"May I listen?" She asked after returning his greeting in kind. She knew of what had happened the last time Eliot and Florez had met.

She sat down and Florez had to suppress a smile at the sight of Eliot waiting for her to sit until doing so himself.

Ever the gentleman.

"So," Florez stated. "Tell us a story."

Eliot looked down at his hands before one slipped almost unconsciously to wrap around his ribs.

"Up until about a year ago I was working retrievals. Fighting for money. Not always on the right side of the fight but…" He shook his head and sighed. "About a year ago I was approached by a man named Victor Dubenich, who wanted to hire me to work as the muscle for a crew pulling a heist in Chicago to steal back his stolen airplane designs…"

That was the day they first heard the names Parker, Hardison, Sophie, and Nathan Ford. That was the day they first heard about the actions of Leverage Consulting and Associates.

When Florez heard about the betrayal that caused the group to break up he feared it was a sign of the final blow for Eliot but there was something in his eyes as he talked about it.

He was angry with them. But he missed them. And he'd learned not to run away.

Florez knew before the story finished that Eliot would go back. Eliot would find a way back to his team.

They'd finish that job and there would be others.

With the story ended Florez stood, stretching stiff knees, making his decision.

It was progress. But just progress.

"You are welcome to stay here tonight Commander. And when you get back together with your team I would like reports from time to time." He let his tone soften. "It would be good to hear from you."

"Come," Maria stated. "Help me make dinner. Let's see if you've let those skills I taught you go to rot." Eliot was quickly bustled off to the kitchen.

You'd never know looking at her how Maria had raged at the threat to his life. She'd forgiven Eliot long before he forgave himself enough to walk back into their lives.

Maybe it was easier for her, not knowing everything Florez did.

Or maybe she was just more familiar with the care and dealings of damaged soldiers.

Florez caught sight of a museum pamphlet sticking out of the corner of Eliot's bag and smiled to himself.

Yes. They'd find their way back to one another.

A little over seven months later Florez would receive a package in the mail containing a playbill for The Sound of Music in Boston and a prepaid, untraceable, cellphone with a single phone number programmed in.

**oOo**

Florez finished his story and it seemed he had nothing more to say. Eliot was scanning the growing crowd around them, part habit for when his surroundings were too noisy to depend on hearing, and probably partly to avoid looking at them.

Nate wasn't sure what to say. Though that problem was somewhat alleviated when someone called a suggestion that they sing the San Lorenzo national anthem. Within moments the singing of the revelers drowned out any chance for conversation.

Eliot gave them both a glance before getting up and heading toward the bar. Florez motioned Nate to follow him out.

Assuming Eliot had gone to settle their tab (Eliot wouldn't even leave an open tab at McRory's) Nate followed Florez out onto the hotel's patio.

"Our national anthem has thirteen verses." Florez explained. "And the fourth and ninth are the same. If the singers are drunk enough they're likely to just keep skipping back. They could be at it for a some time."

It was quiet out here. Only the faint lull of the singers inside.

It felt… In a single night he'd been told more of Eliot's history than he ever thought he'd get. He'd resigned himself a long time ago to not knowing about the pasts of any of the team.

And now…

"You're the reason," he stated, thinking of one of the many mysteries solved tonight.

"One could say I'm the reason for many things," Florez answered, a hint of a joke on his voice but sharp eyes still focusing on Nate.

So much like Eliot.

"The reason for the guns," Nate mused. "I always found it odd. But it makes sense." Florez had had a huge impact on Eliot. Though it did make the interactions before this job seem a little odd. Not to mention… "Did Eliot tell you about the warehouse?"

It was a mess and, yes, Nate felt somewhat guilty about the part he played in getting there.

But this whole affair showed different sides of the hitter, showed that different aspects were in play he'd never realized before. He was still trying to figure Eliot out and he wanted to know if the Hitter would keep something like the warehouse from Florez.

After all, he'd kept Moreau from Nate.

"The warehouse before you came to San Lorenzo?" Florez asked, glancing sideways toward Nate before looking back out toward the city. "He was telling me before you got here." He clasped his hands behind his back, falling into parade rest probably unconsciously. "I do not have a problem with guns Mister Ford. I am soldier. A gun is my tool I use to protect my country from those who would hurt us. But guns can be the tools of murderers, and monsters. Even in the hands of righteous men. And Eliot was not a righteous man then."

Nate saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Three years ago, maybe even a year ago, he might not have noticed it but Nate could recognize that shadow now. Eliot was lurking, listening, watching.

Watching for danger. Watching their backs. Waiting in the wings for his input to be needed.

There had been moments of anger, accusation, even fear, but even now he unconsciously relaxed, knowing Eliot was there to watch his back.

There had never been any real doubt.

Nate wondered if Florez knew they had a shadow. He seemed to have gone silent, his pronouncement contradictory to how he had been acting. Though surviving a decade in San Lorenzo probably required at least a decent poker face.

"Eliot Spencer was not a Righteous man then." Florez repeated. "And there is blood on his hands and deeds he has done of which he may never be clean." He turned, looking towards Nate but his eyes slid past for a moment to land on the person who needed to hear the words more than anyone. "But in that hanger he picked up that gun to protect his family and bring down a monster. He came here again as he once did. As a soldier, wounded, but still fighting." Florez stepped closer to him, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. "Ford, never let him forget what he's fighting for."

Nate moved his mouth to respond, not really sure how. But Florez was gone before he could articulate it.

Later he'd guess his answer could have ranged anywhere from snarky to mildly uncaring to even bordering more emotional than he normally let himself get. He wasn't a nice man. He was the mastermind, not Eliot's shrink. Definitely not his father.

Except the team was his family and if he was being honest he'd have to admit that only if you combined their broken bits would you even get anything close to resembling a whole and yeah, before this whole mess he might have considered that Eliot was _the _person on the team who actually had their shit together when it should have been pretty obvious that Eliot was just the best at faking it.

And if it meant keeping Eliot from spiraling back into the place where he'd walked knowingly into the employ of Moreau because he was just that pissed off at the world and trying that hard to drown the hurt…

Well, a reminder about what they were fighting for every once in a while…

Nate could manage that.

He turned, catching Eliot's eyes across the patio, wondering if he should say something now.

But his cell phone went off. Sophie. Wondering where he was.

When he looked over again Eliot was gone.

**oOo**

They were on the plane the next day before he really thought about it again. The night with Sophie and the potential fallout had him too distracted to really consider anything.

And then he heard a very distinctive laugh and looked up.

He looked over, up and across the aisles separating him and Sophie from Parker, Hardison, and Eliot (as a rule now Hardison makes sure they're at least four rows ahead of Nate and Sophie so that they can keep and eye on the "kids" without having to sit with them).

Eliot's standing in the aisle (he, also by rule, gets the seat separated from the other two by an aisle), leaning on Hardison's seat, talking to Hardison, working at repairing their damaged relationship. A pale hand reached up and over, snatching at the ends of his hair.

As Nate watched Parker all but evicted Hardison from his seat and soon enough the thief was restoring the small braids in Eliot's hair for the first time in… awhile with Hardison keeping up his stream of conversation.

The first time Parker had successfully convinced Eliot to let her braid his hair Hardison hadn't stopped making fun of the situation until Eliot threatened to break his fingers (while holding onto one).

Now it was just something Parker got into her head to do from time to time and Eliot let her and Hardison made no more note of it now than any other thing they did to entertain and indulge her. Parker bored was dangerous but more than that it was Parker. They'd do a lot just for that reason alone.

She was crazy, but she was their crazy. Someone for Hardison to love (and wasn't that a headache waiting to happen), and someone for Eliot to take care of and protect. Someone to make life interesting and keep them on their toes and remind them in her own weird way what all of this was for.

He smiled to himself and looked back to Sophie.

Looked like he wouldn't need to remind Eliot what he was fighting for. After all, Eliot fought to protect his family.

And one thing was certain by now, they were family, and none of them would ever let Eliot forget about them.


End file.
